Kay L. Saunders

Kay L. Saunders

1918 - 2003

BIO:Kay was born and raised in Houghton, Michigan and lived in Munising, Michigan and Neenah and Appleton Wisconsin. She was married to George H. Saunders for 63 years. They had five children, thirteen grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren.

Kay published 6 books: The Grace of Ordinary Days, Gift of the Strangers, A Whippoorwill Calls for Memories, Pluck,Letters from the Other Side: The Gift of Flannery O'Connor andOnly the Footprints are Gone. She also wrote numerous poems, articles, essays and short stories, which were published in magazines, journals and newspapers. Kay was a correspondent for the Catholic newspaper, The Compass, for 20 years, and was a creative writing instructor for Elderhostel at Treehaven, Wisconsin.

KAY SAUNDERS EMERGING POET AWARDShe was a member of the National Association of Poetry Therapy, Sacre' Coeur Book Club, Wisconsin Regional Writers Association, Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets, and the Flannery O'Connor Society.

Kay Saunders was a member of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets (WFOP) for over 40 yearsand was the Regional Vice President for the Central Fox Valley Region for more than 15.

She loved to encourage budding poets of all ages. This award was established in her nameto continue her spirit of nurturing new poets.

Poetry

Only the Footprints are Gone:February 1

“I’m going to die today,” she saidand she didjust as surely as she predictedthe bleeding heart would bloom,the sweet peas would climb our fenceand the nasturtiums would be readyfor the cut-glass vase;just as surely as she predictedthe scars on my knees and elbowswould heal “before you get married”after she dug the long sliversfrom the top layers of my skin;just as surely as she predictedher friends would come on Saturdayfor fresh kuchen and tea.

What she couldn’t predict wason a much later February 1,a girl-child, her grand-daughterwould be bornand grow to be a womanof predictions tooa woman who anticipatestrillium in the springwho forecasts greater scars will healwho expects the taste and smellof all good things.

Would you be right shocked if I told you I was blessedwith total non-retentionand could quickly forgetsharp criticisms of my work?You forget rejections too,pay no mind to them,go about your bidnis.

You’ll be right smartto listen to a few people you trustwho are honest, will suggestdeleting an adjective or two,or help you decide what stories or poemsare fitten for your collections.

I don’treckon I would have written as much or as wellwithout help from friendsand fellow-writers such asEudora Welty, Faulkner, andKatherine Anne Porter.

My region was the South, so I wrote what I had an ear for,Know your region, its flavor,characters and dialect.

You will write a story or poemwhen you have one to write.One story a year was a goodaverage for me;some of my drafts looked likechicken scratchings but I wroteand rewrote.

Sit at yr machine every daysame time, same place;something will come when you’re messingaround with this and that.

I wrote to the end –able to work only an hour or less a day,writing in bed most of the timeor pushed into the typewriterto drag another sotry out of myselfthan to rewrite and polish, send to friends for critiques.Although low on energy, I read the Bible and newspapers,got strength from gifts coming in,from Masses and prayers.